Sleeping With the Enemy (11 page)

“So she says.”

It was the wrong thing to say and Jay knew it. But the pain from her lie all those
years ago still burned. When Bridgett’s eyes rose to meet his, they were wide with incredulous fury. Jay flinched when she squeezed the ice over his sore knuckles.

“You’re sister’s right—you are a bastard.”

She started to walk away, but Jay reached out and grabbed the belt of the robe and pulled her against him. “I must be, because after everything that happened that summer, I still want
you.”

Her fists found his chest and she began to pummel him.
“I hate you. I hate this beautiful house. This vineyard. It’s everything we dreamed of. And
you
have it. Without me.”

Jay let her pound on him, glad that she didn’t pack much of a punch. She was going to think he was an even bigger bastard after he spoke. “If you want it, it’s yours, Bridgett. The house. The vineyard. All of
it.”

“What I want is for you to believe me,” she whispered.

He wasn’t sure what Bridgett meant by her plea but he was sure he’d never believe or trust her with his heart again. But it seemed that little technicality didn’t matter to the parts of his body that wanted her. “Whether I believe you or not doesn’t matter anymore.”

Tears spilled out of her sad eyes. Jay pressed a finger to
her lips to keep her from responding. He was done talking. “This is all that matters,” he said, replacing his finger with his lips.

She smelled like the floral bath soap Josie left out for guests. Beneath his tongue, her skin was salty from the tears she’d been shedding. Not wanting to be reminded of her anger or sadness any longer, he urged her mouth open with his own, tasting the creamy,
crisp pinot grigio on her tongue as his swept over it. He groaned when her nails scraped along the bare skin of his chest. She’d likely meant for it to hurt him but instead her hands were turning him on even more.

He let her break the kiss but he kept his arms loosely wrapped around her. “I hate you,” she whispered as her fist made contact with his chest again.

Jay slid a hand beneath
the robe to palm her round ass. She sucked in a breath when his finger traced her wet seam. “I can feel how much you hate me.”

She head-butted him in the chest. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means we’re good together, Bridgett,” he breathed against her ear as his finger explored a little deeper. “You can come to the vineyard whenever you want. Live here. It doesn’t matter to me.” She
sighed and her body arched
against his. “I don’t care if you hate me; I’ll give you this”—he flicked his finger inside of her—“morning, noon, and night if that’s what you want.”

Bridgett nipped at his chest and Jay was having trouble keeping his pants on. He needed to hurry the negotiations along. “Neither of our hearts ever has to be in play.” She stilled against him and Jay wondered if he’d
taken it too far. Losing wasn’t an option, though, so he stroked again, lingering at the spot that always made her come unglued. “Take what I’m offering, Bridgett. You know you want to.”

She glanced up then and her gray eyes were dark and heavy. “We can’t be those two people again, can we?”

Something squeezed in his chest but he refused to acknowledge it. “No. Never. They were too innocent
to survive.” He leaned down and let his lips hover over hers. “This is what we’re left with, Bridgett. Take it.”

He kissed her then, his hands leaving her body to tangle in her hair, damp on the ends from her bath. Her own arms stretched up over his shoulders in compliance, allowing him to delve deeper into her mouth. Jay was done with negotiating with his words; it was time to use his body
to prove his point. With his leg, he pushed her robe open and maneuvered her so she was riding his jean-clad thigh. He felt her moan at the back of her throat and he continued his conquest of her mouth while she rocked over him.

His lips left hers to explore her neck as he pushed the robe off her shoulders.

“Jay,” she whispered when his fingers found her bare breasts. “Please.”

He
bent her over his outstretched arm and his mouth hovered over her breasts. “Please what, Bridgett? Tell me what you want.”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she released a throaty sigh when he blew on her firm nipple. “I want . . .”

Jay let his tongue play with her areola. “What do you want, Bridgett?” he demanded. His own arousal was painful and Jay was desperate to get her into
his bed. But he found
that he was even more desperate to have her agree to his terms. “Say it.”

“I want . . . I want you.” She thrust against his thigh when his mouth closed around her other nipple. “Please.”

“As long as you know you won’t get all of me, Bridgett.” He was breathing heavy now as lust rolled through him.

“Damn it, Jay,” she cried. “Stop teasing.”

Jay scooped her
up into his arms and carried her to his bed. Shucking his jeans, he slowly crawled over her flushed body, letting his fingers, his lips, and his tongue touch all the places that were once so familiar to him until Bridgett was writhing beneath him.

“In a hurry, counselor?”

Her fingers dug into his skull when he settled between her legs, his shoulders pressing them wide. His lips trailed
over the familiar tiny birthmark on the inside of her left thigh before his tongue found her entrance. He’d wanted to taste her this morning, but their hookup had been frantic—not to mention incredibly arousing—and he never got the chance. Now he took his time using his mouth to slowly let the pleasure build within her. But apparently slow wasn’t on Bridgett’s agenda today because, like this morning,
she came in a rush, her body arching beneath his mouth.

Jay kissed his way along her smooth inner thighs, giving her a moment to relax, but she continued to fidget. He smiled against her skin before going in for seconds. This time he’d make her relax. Bridgett gasped as he teased her sweet spot, bringing her close and then backing off again and again. Her hands clutched at the blankets and
she moaned his name before he finally set her free. This time she collapsed onto the mattress, sated and still.

Bridgett’s eyes were closed when he braced himself on his forearms above her, and Jay felt a measure of relief. That summer, she had always held him spellbound when they’d made love, her eyes wide-open, giving him a window to her soul. Everything she felt and desired, she let him
see. It was heady and humbling all at the same time. But he didn’t want
that connection tonight—or any night. What they shared from now on would be strictly carnal in nature. This was about sex and enjoying each other’s bodies. Nothing more.

Her fingers suddenly wrapped around him, the feel of her not-so-gentle stroking forcing his own eyes closed. Jay nuzzled her neck as Bridgett’s hand worked
him over, bringing him too close to the edge. Nipping her shoulder, he sat back on his heels. He needn’t have worried about seeing that young innocent girl again because the woman staring at him beneath her half-open eyelids was no innocent. She knew exactly what she was doing when she wrapped both hands around him.

Jay’s breath caught in his lungs at the picture she presented spread out beneath
him, her aroused body flushed from head to toe. Grabbing both her wrists, he reluctantly pulled her hands off his now painful arousal and placed each hand beside her head. Her eyes were wide-open now, daring him to look away but, damn it, he couldn’t do it. She watched silently, her chin set at that belligerent angle that she never used to have, as he rolled the condom on.

Leaning back over
her, he took her lips in a deep, plundering kiss. Jay’s tongue tangled with hers as he slowly slid inside her. Her warmth enveloped him and it felt so good he held himself still and groaned in pleasure. Bridgett wrapped her legs around him, sliding the arch of one foot over his ass before she linked her feet together on his lower back. She sought out his hands and intertwined her fingers with his
as he began to move in and out of her. Sucking on his tongue, she rolled her hips to allow him deeper access. Jay couldn’t take it any longer. He set a vigorous pace that was rough, erotic, and nothing like the way he’d ever treated Bridgett that summer. She responded with soft sounds of encouragement while their bodies moved as one. Jay felt her tightening around him just as she pulled her mouth
from his.

“Oh God, Jay,” she breathed. Her neck arched back while a satisfied cry escaped her throat.

Jay couldn’t hold on any longer, and as he followed her over the edge, his eyes flew open and locked with hers, wide and damp. He swore.

“I hate that it’s so good with you,” she whispered. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

A feeling of smug satisfaction came over him. Jay leaned
in and placed an openmouthed kiss on the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Good,” he said, completely ignoring the niggling fear that he may be ruining both of them.

Bridgett loved to explore the vineyards first thing in the morning. Spying several bikes leaning against one of the utility buildings next to the winery, she hopped on one with a wicker basket on its handlebars. It was large enough to hold her camera. The grapes had all been tied into clusters to form canopies and she wanted to get some pictures of the spectacular Italian countryside
to send back home to her family in Boston.

The area was surrounded by the Alps and Dolomites and bordered Austria and Switzerland. Bridgett had been surprised to find the perfect rows of grapes located in the northernmost regions in Italy. According to the family hosting her for the summer, only fifteen percent of the mountainous territory was farmable. And the DiSantis family had been harvesting
grapes for wine production for centuries. While the charity she interned for hadn’t assigned her to Florence or Milan as she’d hoped, Bridgett knew her sisters would be envious of the scenery at least.

Jetta, one of the family’s truffle-harvesting dogs, followed Bridgett down the narrow dirt lane, but stopped once
she’d reached the main road leading to the village. Bridgett loved to explore
the village’s old buildings, which had been built by the Austrians long before the area became a part of Italy. Today she’d take advantage of the bright June sunshine and photograph the centuries-old stone chapel across from the clinic where she was working with a Catholic nun who’d taught her chemistry in high school. She was in Italy for six months while she figured out what to do with the rest
of her life and Bridgett figured she’d see everything she could while she had the chance.

Less than a mile into her trek, the chain on her bicycle snapped, causing Bridgett to lurch to a halt. Her right foot landed ankle deep in the mud, caking her brand-new Skechers sneaker as though it were quicksand. She groaned. Her sister Ashley had just sent them and Bridgett loved those shoes.

She was still straddling the bike, trying to figure out a way to get her foot out of the mud without leaving her shoe behind when an old Isuzu pickup truck came over the hill in front of her. The truck stopped a few yards ahead and she was surprised to see a young man dressed in a Green Day T-shirt, faded jeans, and Sorel work boots emerge from the driver’s seat. Everything about him screamed American.
Loose limbed with an easy smile, he nearly knocked Bridgett off her bike with his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked in perfect English. Genuine concern was in his voice and in his expression.

“I’m just a little stuck,” Bridgett said shyly. She was relieved not to have to converse in Italian, since her command of the language was barely passable.

His smile grew more relaxed,
if that was even possible, as he glanced down at the broken chain. “That’s the sorry thing about bikes—no place for a spare. Not even a spare chain.” He crouched down close to her, getting a good glimpse of her leg beneath her cropped shorts, making Bridgett extremely grateful she’d used a razor that morning. “I don’t think that can be fixed here. Why don’t you climb off and I’ll see if there’s
something in the truck’s toolbox to fix it.”

Bridgett wiggled her sneakered foot. “It’s my foot that’s stuck. I’m afraid if I get off, my new shoe will be left behind.”

He shook his head but his eyes were laughing at her. “What is it with women and their shoes?” He took a step closer and grabbed onto the bike’s crossbar. “Here, put your hand on my shoulder for some leverage and pull. Hopefully
the shoe will stay on.”

His T-shirt was soft but his shoulder was solid muscle underneath it. Bridgett looked down at her feet in order to hide her embarrassing reaction to his body beneath her hand. She yanked her foot free but, of course, her shoe stayed put. Gripping his shoulder a little harder than she wanted to, she drew her leg over the bike and stood beside him, one foot bare on the
road.

Her rescuer handed her the bike before stepping around it and retrieving her muddy shoe from the quagmire beside the road. “Let’s take this over to the truck and see if we can fix you both up.”

She hobbled over to his pickup and he lowered the back tailgate for her to sit on. He dug through the contents of the back and pulled out a towel that he then used to wipe off her sneaker
as best he could. Bridgett went to take it from him but he held it away from her, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh no, you get the full Prince Charming treatment,” he said as he leaned down to put her shoe on her foot. “Just don’t tell my little sister I played Cinderella with anyone else but her.” He winked at her before untying her sneaker and sliding it on her foot. “And it fits.” Bridgett nearly
melted beneath the glow of his satisfied grin.

He lifted the bike up on the tailgate beside her, carefully handing Bridgett her camera from inside the basket. “I guess I’m going to have to do the work of the fairy godmother as well and fix your coach. Too bad we’re not in a pumpkin patch.”

“Really, it’s okay. I can walk back to the manor house from here. It’s not far.” While Bridgett didn’t
want to inconvenience him any longer, the thought of never seeing him again left an unsettled feeling deep in her belly.

“Nonsense. Charlie would strip me of my crown if I let you walk back.” He dug into the toolbox.

“Charlie?”

“Hmm,” he said, pulling out a wrench. “My very own princess of a little sister. She’s eight.”

Bridgett smiled at the thought of this devastatingly handsome
guy lavishing all his attention on a younger sister. “And not a bit spoiled by her older brother, I’m sure.”

He gave her a wicked grin then and Bridgett felt a stirring deep in her core. “Hey, what’s the use of having a younger sibling if you can’t spoil them so they annoy your parents?”

She thought of her brother Brody, the baby of the Janik family, spoiled rotten by four older sisters.

Turning back to the bike, he began to work on the chain. “So obviously, given your thick Italian accent, you were born and raised here in Trentino?”

Her smile grew at his teasing and she relaxed as she watched him work. “More like Boston.”

“Ahh, a chowder girl.”

Bridgett rolled her eyes at the popular quip. “How about you, local boy?”

“I call lots of places home. Mom’s a professor
so I grew up in college towns mostly but I spent my teenage years in Manhattan.”

“Ah, a worldly prince.”

The chain broke in a second spot and her rescuer swore under his breath. “How far did you say that walk was?”

“Not far. I’m staying at the DiSantis vineyards. I can certainly manage. You’ve been very kind, but I won’t keep you any longer.” She reached for the bike, but he shoved
it farther into the truck bed.

“Well, Cinderella, this is your lucky day. I’m on my way to meet with the harvest manager there. I’ll give you a lift.” The wariness must have shown in her face because he extended his hand, a sober expression now on his face. “Jay McManus at your service. I swear I’m not an ax murderer.”

Bridgett glanced at his hand, strong yet elegant. “Isn’t
that what
they all say right before they chop off the obnoxiously naïve woman’s head?”

He smiled that breathtaking smile again and Bridgett had to work not to fall off the tailgate. “Yep, you’re definitely a tough Boston girl.”

She shook his hand warmly. “Bridgett Janik, and if something happens to me, I have three sisters and a little brother who’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Jay walked her
around to the passenger side of the truck before opening the door and helping her in. “A big family, huh? My college roommate comes from a large Chicago family. I’m thinking they can take yours,” he said with a wink.

The five-minute drive to the vineyard was much too short for Bridgett. Jay explained he was in Italy as a summer intern, learning the ropes to growing grapes for wine production.
His goal was to open a winery in Northern California. He was visiting the DiSantis vineyard to learn about the process for growing pinot gris grapes in order to make pinot grigio, a wine that was becoming extremely popular in the United States.

“Do you like wine?” he asked, his enthusiasm for the subject making Bridgett smile.

“I’m not a big drinker,” she said as he pulled the truck in
front of the winery. It was a little bit of a lie, but her college friends mostly drank beer when they weren’t pretending to be Carrie and her friends from
Sex and the City
and drinking cosmos. “So I don’t know much about wine, I’m afraid.”

“You’re in the heart of wine country and you don’t know about wine?” he exclaimed as he cut the ignition. “We need to change that, Cinderella. Today.”

She spent the rest of the day trailing behind Jay, Vincenzo DiSantis and Giovanni, the master vintner, as they discussed grapes, specifically the deep pink pinot grigio grapes. Bridgett learned that the grigio style was achieved by harvesting the grapes relatively early, in an attempt to retain as much fresh acidity as possible. To retain the freshness and “zing” of the wine, fermentation and
storage took place in stainless-steel tanks. If barrels were used, Jay explained to
her, this would add palate weight and sweet vanilla-like aromas, which would take away from the clean, simple style the wine is famous for. He told her that pinot grigio wines were almost always intended for consumption within a year or two of harvest, making long-term cellaring unnecessary.

Later that afternoon,
Jay poured her a glass from a bottle Giovanni had just uncorked. “Tell me this isn’t smooth on the palate, Cinderella,” he said before saluting her with his own glass and taking a healthy swallow. She watched his expression as he savored the wine. Jay studied her just as intently when she took her own tentative sip. But the wine was delicious, crisp and fruity at the same time. Bridgett took
another drink and smiled at him. The heat in his eyes as he returned the smile had her gulping down her first glass of pinot grigio.

They spent the next two weeks in each other’s company. Bridgett would spend the day at the clinic, and Jay would retrieve her in his battered pickup and they’d explore the countryside, tasting wine and local cuisine as they went. He told her about his sister,
whom he obviously adored, and she told him about her uncertainty over what she wanted to do with her life. Jay teased her about becoming a nun, flirting with her about what he might have to do to dissuade her. Still, it was two weeks before he kissed her. And another week before he slowly divested her of her clothes in an inn outside of Verona and made love to her. Despite her involvement with the
nuns, Bridgett hadn’t been a virgin. Yet her previous sexual encounters had been bumbling and sophomoric compared to the way Jay brought her body to life. He made her feel like a woman should feel. And Bridgett couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

•   •   •

Bridgett awoke with a start, her dream of Italy so vivid she could actually smell the grapes of the DiSantis vineyard in the bedroom
surrounding her. It took a moment for her to come to her senses and realize the fragrance she was inhaling came from Jay’s vineyard. Another moment later, she
remembered she was in his bed. Naked. She slammed her eyes shut and groaned as she flopped back down on the pillow.

“And to think, you used to be a morning person.”

She cracked her eyelids open, letting her gaze take in the beautiful
room—even more gorgeous in the daytime. Sunlight streamed through the terrace door, open just wide enough to let the fresh morning air permeate the room. Jay was seated at a desk in the far corner, typing out something on his laptop. He wore gray slacks, a freshly pressed white dress shirt, untucked, and his feet were bare. If the casual version of Jay McManus could heat up her insides, the dressed-up
version made them positively molten.

Bridgett heard the furious buzzing of her cell phone from deep within her purse on the other side of the room and she suddenly remembered why she was in Napa in the first place. “What time is it?” she croaked out, looking around the room for a clock.

“Don’t worry,” Jay said, closing his laptop and standing. “It’s only eight thirty. Mimi isn’t coming
until ten.” He walked to the pretty table she’d coveted the night before and poured her tea from a gorgeous china teapot. Placing the teacup and some sugar packets on a plate with a spoon, he made his way over to the bed. Bridgett sat up against the wooden headboard, cool against her bare skin, and tucked the sheet beneath her armpits. Her phone buzzed again.

“That’ll be Stuart,” she said
when he placed the tea on the nightstand. “Can you hand me my purse, please.”

Jay sat down on the edge of the bed. “Not yet.” The lines bracketing his mouth were more pronounced and those blue eyes steely. He reached up and traced a finger along her jawline. “Did you sleep well?”

She’d slept deeply. It was eleven thirty East Coast time and she was still in bed. “You know I did,” she whispered.

He leaned in, kissing her soundly. Jay tasted like coffee and smelled like soap and her fingers curled into the sheets in an effort to not tangle through his still-damp hair.

“Jay,” she breathed after pulling her mouth away from his.
“We can’t do this. We have to get ready to iron out a preemptive media strategy with Mimi.”

His lips settled into a firm line. “Actually, it’s more of
a defensive strategy now.”

Bridgett’s stomach somersaulted and her phone buzzed again. “Alesha Warren didn’t waste any time.”

Jay continued to stare at her, his gaze remorseful. “No, she didn’t.”

“What happened?”

He reached for her teacup and placed it in her hands, gently caressing her fingers as he did so. “Drink this first.”

Her stomach was somersaulting into her chest now,
and her breathing hitched. The look on his face told her that whatever Alesha Warren had done, Bridgett wasn’t going to like it. Jay angled his chin toward her cup, urging her to drink, but Bridgett wanted to get out of bed, get dressed, and get to her phone. “I’d rather discuss this when I’ve got a little more clothing on.”